


When the Rage Subsides

by UbiquitousMixie



Category: Battlestar Galactica
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-06
Updated: 2012-06-06
Packaged: 2017-11-07 00:47:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/425087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UbiquitousMixie/pseuds/UbiquitousMixie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She hates herself for this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the Rage Subsides

She hates herself for this. 

The cylon—the Three (is it D’Anna? Or another?)—twists her fingers roughly and Laura lets out a throaty moan. There is little finesse to the blonde’s movements, only greedy lust to possess what she has already colonized.

To escape the numbness that’s settled over New Caprica like a plague, Laura takes her pleasure from her captors. It’s better when it hurts like this. She doesn’t try to separate the pleasure from the pain—she likes it best when she can’t distinguish between the two.

She wonders if she’s broken now, if she’ll only ever be good for frakking rather than making love. She doesn’t let herself think of that now; the emotional pain will only make it worse. She can’t think about making love without thinking of Bill, and she can’t afford to think about him when another woman’s fingers are filling her completely.

She hates Bill Adama for leaving. She hates the gods for allowing them all to suffer. She hates the cylons. She hates herself. There is so much rage and resentment and hurt inside of her that Laura feels she’d have gone crazy if she hadn’t found a way to release it somehow.

Her thighs, pliant and sickly white under the fluorescent bulbs, spread wider. She lets the Three in deeper, hissing when the blonde scissors her fingers. She needs her harder and faster and so she rocks her hips into it, squeezing tightly around those fingers and locking them inside.

The Three smirks, her wicked lips parting to reveal pearly teeth that proceed to sink into her shoulder. She bites and Laura screams and her thighs begin to shake. She’s so close it’s pathetic. She wonders what the cylon must think of her, needy and writhing in frenetic desperation but then she realizes she doesn’t care—this is for her own selfish purposes. Frak the cylon. 

Laura _is_ frakking her, taking purely hedonistic delight in the way the Three rolls her slick folds against Laura’s thigh. The blonde is hairless and hungry for release—so hungry that Laura barely has to work at all to get her there. The Three does it all, her thumb pressing punishingly against her clit. 

It burns and Laura loves it. She moans loudly, her russet locks thrown back against the bare sheets. 

The Three chuckles again. “You like that?” 

Laura cringes for a moment. This may not, in fact, be the same Three she frakked four days ago, and she may not be the one she fraks tomorrow. She doesn’t know whether to be pleased or horrified; there is little comfort in either alternative. 

Either way she feels like a whore. 

She hates herself for this. 

Laura digs her nails into the cylon’s hips, urging her into a more frantic rhythm while her own cunt aches for more. As if she can read Laura’s mind, the Three adds a third finger and curls them, and her nails scratch mercilessly against her sensitive inner walls. It hurts—there will be blood—but it’s exactly what she needs to tip over the edge. For just this moment—this brilliant, all-consuming flash of light and pleasure and oblivion—Laura forgets. She loses herself completely, revels in each throb. She clings to every last millisecond because it never lasts. It’s never enough. The pleasure and the pain won’t make her feel alive when she returns to her cold, empty tent. 

She’ll be numb again-- too numb to hate herself or the cylons or Bill Adama.

\---


End file.
